


These Hands

by underthenorthstar



Series: Tumblr Fics [5]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Burns, Common Interests, F/M, Forging, Getting to Know Each Other, Making Out, Mild Sexual Content, Romantic Tension, Scars, Sexual Tension, Tumblr Prompt, body image issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-04 12:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10991154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/underthenorthstar/pseuds/underthenorthstar
Summary: From a Tumblr prompt: Ivar catches you doing your favourite hobby.TW: scars, body image issues, mild sexual content





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my dear friend wheniamaunicorn on Tumblr for this prompt

You sighed in delight as you entered the empty blacksmith's shop. After a long day of wedding planning, it felt good get out of the Great Hall and to a place you feel happy in. You were grateful to Queen Aslaug that she was so invested in the wedding of her son, but one can only take so much. You felt ready to blow off some stress doing the thing you love most: crafting.

You knew it was an odd hobby for a princess to have. But ever since you were little, you were fascinated by the way a skilled smith could turn a hunk of metal into a sword or a knife or a piece of armour. In no time, you had convinced the town smith to teach you, and you'd been spending as much time in the forge ever since. Your father disapproved greatly, but eventually he gave up trying to stop you. "I only hope a prince will marry you, Y/N," he had said while shaking his head. "No prince wants a princess with hands more calloused and burned than his."

Of course, that naturally had made you very self conscious of them. You had taken to wearing soft fingerless leather gloves as often as you could, when you weren't working. 

But your father had gotten his wish. He had lucked out when he traveled to Kattegat to bargain with Queen Aslaug for a marriage with one of her sons. The Queen had been most agreeable, and a few months later you had found yourself traveling to Kattegat, betrothed to the man known as Ivar the Boneless. 

You had been surprised at first your father had agreed, as you found it hard to see him excited about the prospect of you marrying a cripple. You knew you could care less about a pair of crippled legs, as long as you were comfortable and relatively happy, but you thought your father would care. Then you realized he was probably just happy someone wanted to marry you at all. Although, Ivar was not just "someone". Since your arrival a month ago, you had yet to unravel the mystery that was your husband to be.

He was handsome, that was for sure. A gorgeous face, thick dark hair, smooth tanned skin. And strong, his upper body more than making up for his useless legs. But he was very distant, only speaking to you when nessecary and as little as possible. He always seemed grumpy and scowled a lot, and you hoped he wouldn't be like that after you became his wife. It would be a tedious life if that was the case, and often when you saw his surly face you would feel a sense of impending dread. But sometimes you caught him looking at you with something....different in his sea blue eyes, and you couldn't help but long to know what exactly it was.

Shaking your head, you sat behind the grindstone and pulled out your most recent project: a new hunting knife. It was time to forget your entrancing yet befuddling betrothed, and lose yourself in your work.

"That is a beautiful knife."

You screeched and jumped, dropping the knife as you search in the dim torchlight for the intruding voice. To your surprise, your husband to be slithered out of the darkness. 

"What are you doing here?" You asked, trying to calm your racing heart. 

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, pulling himself up to sit on the stool beside you. Your eyebrows shot up. He had never been this close to you. At least not willingly. You found his close proximity slightly overwhelming. 

"But I already know the answer," he continued on, ignoring the look of surprise on your face. "You are making a knife. I have watched you for the last week now."

The last week. He has been here, unbeknownst to you, for the last week? 

"You've been watching me?" You squeaked, feeling your cheeks turn a bright shade of red. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I was curious. When you arrived here, I thought you were just another spoiled, useless princess. Then I saw you come here one night. I was intrigued as to why a princess would visit a forge so late. So I followed you, and to my surprise you picked up a hammer and began to work. I decided to watch you, to see what you would produce. I am a crafter too, you know. I can spot good work when I see it." He reached down to pick up your dropped knife and holds it out to you. "It seems you are not so useless, after all."

You frowned. Was that a compliment? You weren't sure. But it was interesting to know that you two actually had something in common. You reached out to take the knife, but instead of letting you have it, he took his other hand and trapped yours in its strong grip.

You tried to wriggle it out; all you could think of was all the ugly burns and callouses touching him, as you were not wearing your gloves. His skin was wonderfully warm. Your cheeks flushed even redder with embarrassment. As a fellow worker, you knew he would not be alarmed by the state of your hands. But you still felt self conscious as he held one. 

"These are not useless hands," he murmured, dragging his thumb over a particularly nasty burn. You felt a tingling shiver run through you at his gentle touch. "These hands bear marks of hard work and dedication. They are good hands, strong hands. They will be good for holding children, tending a hearth, or even...for love."

You were mesmerized by his words, even though he seemed to be speaking more to himself than to you. His last sentence about love had your breath catching in your throat. You suddenly saw image in your mind of your marked hands roaming over his body, feeling strong muscles tense and ripple under your touch. You saw them stroking his hair, gripping his shoulders, cradling his face as lips and skin slide against each other. It made you ache in a way you had never experienced before. You ached to know what he felt like, what he tasted like. It hit you with the dizzying force of a fierce summer storm. 

He looked up at you then, and you saw that unfamiliar "something" once again dancing in his eyes. He studied your face like he was seeing it for the first time. And maybe he truly was Maybe he had never really looked at you, never thought to see if you could be someone he could share his life with, and that it might be good. He looked almost like a hopeful child, like maybe something might finally go right for him. You realized, in that moment, that Ivar may not always who he presents himself to be. Under the grumpy, scowling exterior, there is a different man. And you found yourself wanting desperately to discover who that man was.

His lips parted slightly, the thumb on your hand stopping its rhythmic stroking as he began to slowly lean towards you. Your heart skipped a beat. Was he going to kiss you? You found you wanted him to. 

You leaned forward as well, not missing the look of mixed surprise and delight that briefly flitted across his face. He set down your knife, and his now free hand reached up to grasp you neck firmly, anchoring you in place. You had never been touched so dominantly, and you found that his strong fingers digging into your flesh felt rather thrilling. 

Your lips were almost touching, your breath mingled as you found your eyes sliding closed in anticipation. He gave a soft sigh, almost in contentment, and you readied yourself for the press of his mouth to yours.

Loud voices suddenly echoed from outside the forge, laughter spilling in through the wooden walls like water slipping over stones in a stream. Ivar's hands left you immediately, his body rearing back from yours as if burned. You opened your eyes, disappointment rushing through you. Ivar's face held a similar displeased expression, but he schooled it in to cool disinterest as the blacksmith as his wife entered the forge.

They greeted you both cordially, and if they were surprised to see you together there, they didn't say anything. Ivar was quick to slide off the stool and bid them goodnight, not even sparing you a second glance as he crawled out of the shop. 

You ignored the couple as they wished you a goodnight and went to the back of the forge to go to bed. You were too busy thinking of what had just happened. Ivar had been going to kiss you. He had held your hand in his and declared them strong, desirable even. He had shown a layer of himself, a glimpse of the man behind the mask. 

You smiled to yourself as you picked up your knife and set to work. You had a feeling that after tonight, you would no longer see so many scowls, or feel that sense of dread you had been occasionally subject to. 

And you definitely would no longer wear your gloves.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You cannot stop thinking about what happened with Ivar at the forge, or wanting to kiss him. But where has he been? Does he feel the same way?

You spent the whole next day thinking about Ivar. 

You hoped you would be able to get him alone after dinner, to see if you could once again get a glimpse of that man hiding behind his cool mask. You were completely entranced. You wanted to know everything about him, to talk with him for hours about anything and everything. You wanted to feel your heartbeat race from his words, his presence. And, you desperately wanted that kiss you had been denied.

Not just one kiss, but many kisses. You wanted to taste and touch and lose yourself in that masculine warmth that radiated from his body. It made you tingly and warm all over just to think about it. 

You were so distracted that Queen Aslaug sent you away from the wedding preparations early, claiming your head was too far in the clouds to be of any use to her. You had blushed at that, but she had just given you a knowing smile and shooed you out of the hall. 

Dinner time came, and you entered the hall wringing your hands nervously. You had forgone your gloves, and were feeling a little self conscious. Not to mention you were scared of how Ivar would treat you. Would he speak to you more freely now? Would he smile at you, even touch you? Or would he act exactly as he always had? 

You never found out, as he did not show up to dinner that night. Or the next night, or the night after that. You went to the forge each night, hoping that he might show up there instead, but he did not come there either. You were worried and a little hurt. What was going on? Did he regret what almost happened that one night, and was now doing everything possible to avoid you? You found that thought cut you like the edge of your own knife. 

Finally, on the fourth night of Ivar not showing up to dinner, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You were about to try to find a way to corner one of his brothers, ask them what was going on, when a small slave girl approached you with a timid bow. 

"Princess, Prince Ivar wishes to see you at his private cabin."

Your mouth fell open in shock. His private living space? Your father, extremely prude for a Viking, would never approve. But you were itching to know what Ivar had been doing the last few days. Not to mention just wanting to see him again. To look at that handsome face, to have those stormy blue eyes slice through your flesh and pierce your very soul. 

The slave girl was looking at you expectantly. You sighed. You would be in huge trouble if your father found out, but you had to see Ivar. 

"Alright," you nodded. "Take me to him."

***  
You entered Ivar's private cabin not but a few minutes later. You wondered breifly why he did not stay in the Great Hall, but your question was answered once you heard the snarls of pain coming from behind the bed curtain. The sounds clawed at your heart. Was something wrong with his legs? Did he hurt himself? The slave girl motioned towards the bed. You quickly hurried over and pulled back the curtain without so much as a word. 

Ivar was propped up in the big bed, chest bare, his blue eyes closed and brow pinched in pain. An elderly woman was packing something into a satchel. A healer, you presumed. She did not so much as look up at you. 

"Was wondering when you would arrive, Princess," she said, her voice reedy but strong. "I've just massaged his legs, they should be good for a few hours. Make sure he drinks his tea, every last drop. He's getting better, pain should be gone in another few days. I'll show you how to massage his legs when I come back later." She looked up at you finally, her old green eyes crinkling at the corners. "Stubborn as they come, this one. You'll have fun being his wife." She winked at you, then turned to Ivar. 

"Rest, princeling. And go easy on your poor woman."

You blushed at being called "his", your heart giving an erratic flutter in your chest. The healer bustled past you, slipping out into the cold night. You looked at Ivar, who had not opened his eyes. His chest rose and fell harshly as he breathed through the pain. You could not help but admire the definition of his muscles, the strength that lay beneath the miles of bare, golden skin. You wanted to touch it, to run your hand over those hard planes. Your blush deepened.

"Well, I know your hands are good for smithing, are they capable of making tea as well?" His eyes had opened, and his sharp voice jolted you out of your lustful thoughts. 

"Ooh, of course," you cursed your flaming cheeks as you hurried to put the kettle over the fire. You could feel his eyes raking over you as you did so, tracing over every curve with a sticky slowness that made your insides begin to feel warm.

"My legs hurt often, when the weather begins to cool like this. They get very painful," he said crisply as you busied yourself with the kettle. "I cannot get out of bed for days sometimes, or sleep at night. I may even cry out with the pain. As my future wife, you should be aware of this."

You can feel some tension bleed out of your shoulders. Well, that at least explained his absence over the last few days. But the poor man, to be burdened with all that pain....

"Thank you for telling me," you replied, finishing with the kettle and turning around to face him. You fiddled with your hands, unsure of what to do next. You wanted to comfort him somehow, but you did not know where to start.

"I will need my legs massaged regularly. The healer cannot always come, so you will learn," He set his jaw in a hard line as he spoke. You had the sudden urge to run a finger alone the strong edge. "I will need my herbs crushed, my tea made, the cabin kept warm and dry. All menial tasks like bathing and dressing will have to be done for me. The slaves split the tasks now, but they are needed for other things. So you will take over once we are married."

He was looking at you with such a fierce expression, almost challenging you. His eyes searched your face carefully, like he was trying to find something he knew was there. You frowned, hurt coursing through you. Didn't he say to you that he thought you were not a spoiled, useless princess? Surely that meant you were capable of looking after him when he was in this state. So why the challenge in his face? 

"Of course," you said, your voice flat. "I am to be your wife, I will do these tasks for you."

You could see his whole body tense up, as if your words had somehow wrapped themselves around him and pulled tight. Something disappointed and painful came over his face, almost like a grim sort of acceptance.

And your breath left your lungs as you suddenly realized why you were really here. Ivar was not just telling you about your duties as his wife, or even questioning your abilities. He wanted to see your reaction to his legs, and all they entailed. He wanted to see if you would balk and run, cringe and bear it or......

Or accept it with an open heart. Accept him and all he was not out of duty, but out of whatever had sparked between you in the forge that night. Clearly, he had felt it too. The connection, the desire, the mutual letdown at the missed kiss. The disappointed look on his face said it all. He took your flat tone, your frown, as an adherence to duty. A nuisance you must deal with. 

How wrong he was. You didn't give two shits about caring for his legs, as long as you got to continue unraveling his complex and enthralling layers. As long as you got to feel what it was like to fall headlong into his embrace, to learn the taste of his mouth and the slide of his skin against yours. That night had awoken something in you, a flame in your heart you didn't even realize was burning. And Ivar wasn't the damper. 

He was the spark. And he needed to know.

So you marched over to the bed, took his face in your battered hands, and kissed him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was your decision to kiss Ivar's a mistake? Or the best decision ever? 
> 
> TW: mild sexual content, body image issues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3! Sorry it's taken me so long to update my Ao3 haha.

Ivar went very still.

You kept your lips pressed to his, eyes closed tightly, unable to tear yourself away despite his lack of response. His lips felt warm and slightly chapped, but surprisingly soft. Just the feel of them made you yearn to know what his mouth, his tongue tasted like. You silently begged any god that was listening for him to respond, for this impulsive gesture not to have been a huge mistake. 

Your heart thumped madly in your chest, your hopes crumbling into dust with every passing second. You misread him. You had been wrong, you were-

A growl rumbled from deep within his chest. One large hand left the bed and sat on the base of your skull, and you had barely a second to grasp what was happening before his mouth began to move harshly against yours.

Ivar's lips were fast and rough, devouring yours like a predator starving for his fresh kill. You whimpered at the onslaught, every nerve ending in your body feeling like it had been set on fire. You had been kissed before, by your few past lovers, but they were nothing like this. They had never been so demanding, so hungry. Ivar kissed as if his very life depended on it, an onslaught of sensation after sensation that had your mind reeling and your blood singing. 

His tongue was suddenly pushing past the seam of your lips, not even asking for permission before slipping inside the cavern of you mouth. You moaned at the warm, wet intrusion. He tasted like bitter herbs and heady ale. You instinctively curled your own tongue over his, and the groan that ripped from his throat made your toes curl in your boots. You could drown in his kiss, you decided. You could kiss him until he stole the very last breathe from your lungs, and you would die a happy and satisfied woman.

You had to get closer. You had to touch all that golden skin. Your hands slid off his face, down the strong corded muscles of his neck, over the expanse of his broad chest. His skin was warm, so wonderfully warm and smooth and perfect. His scent, metal and earth and something deliciously musky, completely enveloped you. His muscles rippled under your touch, and his strong hands moved to tug at you, urging you closer, closer. You eagerly obeyed, climbing up onto the bed without breaking your kiss. 

You forgot about his sore legs; you crawled right up onto his lap without even a second thought. Ivar's lips tore from yours with a pained, surprised gasp, and you immediately threw yourself off of him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You cried, trying to slide off the bed. He stopped you by hooking an arm around your waist.

"Do not even think about leaving," he growled, hauling you back towards him with surprising strength. "I am not finished with you yet."

You squealed as he picked you up in his hands and set you down on his lap. The impact made you fall forward, and you braced your hands on his chest to stop from your heads colliding. Your faces were barely inches apart, breath mingling in the minute space between you. The tension in the air was heavy, like a fog sitting upon the ocean before the sun rises to dissipate it.

"I don't care about your legs," you whispered, staring into the swirling abyss of his blue eyes. You were pretty sure he had figured that out from your steamy kiss, but you felt it had to be said out loud. "Just like you don't care about my hands." 

His brow creased, and the hands on your hips tightened.

"Your hands are useful," his tone was edged. "And they are nothing to be ashamed of."

"Neither are your legs," you said pointedly. "Ivar, you fascinate me. Ever since I laid eyes on you, I have been intrigued. I want to know you. Both personally and physically." You blushed at the last part, hyper aware of how close his tantalizing lips were. "That night at the forge, it brought everything to the surface. I was so disappointed our kiss did not happen . And when I did not see you after....part of me thought you had changed your mind, that I was indeed a useless, silly princess with ugly hands."

You took a breath, making to continue on, but he stopped you with a harsh kiss that had your nails digging sharply into his chest. 

"Do you know," he snarled, nipping at your bottom lip. "That you talk entirely too much nonsense? You will be a useless princess if you do not put that pretty pink mouth to better use."

You pulled back slightly to look at his face. Desire was written plain as day across it, but something warmer and softer lay beneath the surface. The something that you had seen that night in the forge. And it solidified everything for you. Ivar wanted you. You wanted him. Despite both of your preconceived perceptions, your insecurities, the circumstance of your arranged marriage. And that was a very good start. You grinned.

"And what exactly is a better use?" You asked, fluttering your lashes coyly at him. He growled, leaning forward to capture your mouth again, but you had other ideas. You turned your face at the last second, instead leaving a wet, open mouthed kiss on the sharp angle of his jaw. His skin was salty on your tongue. 

"Is this it?" You teased, kissing along his jawline. Feelings confirmed, you were feeling rather confident. Of course, Ivar's growing excitement against your thigh was certainly helping. 

"Minx," his voice was strained, like he was reigning himself in. Someone who kissed like he did probably liked to be in control, and with the pains in his legs he could not flip your positions. The idea that you had him at your mercy was intoxicating. "I did not peg you for an insufferable tease." He groaned as your lips traveled the path your hands had taken earlier, down his neck and across his chest. Your body slid down his, and you practically purred at the feeling. 

"I am many things, besides a part time craft-smith and a princess," you said, admiring the small trail of hair leading down his abdomen and under the furs. His stomach jerked as you ran your tongue along it. "We will just have to get to know each other better for you to find out, won't we?"

Ivar's hand fisted tightly in your hair as you pushed the furs down an inch.  
"When I am able to 'know you better', little minx, you won't be able to walk for a week."

Something fierce and hot slid down your spine to pool in your belly as you continued to inch the furs lower, and lower, and lower....

"I look forward to it, husband to be. Now, shall I put my mouth to the best possible use?"

The fist that tightened in your hair was all the response you needed.

~~~~

Needless to say, when the old healer returned to the cabin a few hours later, she was not surprised to find the door locked and some very contented sounds coming from inside. She grinned, knocking lightly on the door.

"I guess you no longer need your legs massaged, do you, princeling?" She asked, laughing at the loud curse that answered her. "Alright, I'll be back in the morning. Don't strain yourself too much. And find some time to drink that damn tea!"

Another curse, which trailed off into a strangled moan. The old healer laughed harder, patting the cabin for affectionately before she turned and puttered off into the night. 

She had a distinct feeling the prince would be feeling much, much better tomorrow.


End file.
